Pretending to be Okay
by Wildestdreams1972
Summary: When Sam is injured, he does what he's always done, and hides it from the people who care most. Except this time, it won't be just him who suffers. Someone from the team will pay for his mistakes. Another Sam/Zion story.
1. Chapter 1

Sam grinned at Zion as he slid gloves on, bouncing on his toes with excitement.

"Prepared to lose?" He taunted. She rolled her moss-colored eyes.

"In your dreams Braddock," she responded coolly.

Spike sat, observing them, finger poised over the start button on the timer.

"Ready?" He inquired.

"Yep."

Spike nodded, and slammed his finger down on the button.

Instantaneously, the pair began climbing. Grunting and swearing were the only sounds to be heard, as the two raced to the top.

She was ahead of him, only a few feet away from the top. In an effort to gain more distance hurriedly, Sam overextended his leg. A sharp pain shot through it, halting his progress momentarily.

Loudly, he cursed, before continuing up the wall, unwilling to allow Zion bragging rights.

In the end, she won, though Sam attempted to say he'd allowed her to win.

Minutes later, the familiar alarm sounded, echoing throughout the entire floor.

"Team One hot call! Two active shooters at Northwest Bank, located on Young Street," Winnie called out from behind her desk.

"Team One, gear up!" Ed commanded, exiting the briefing room.

Ten minutes later, three SUVs and a command truck were on the road, speeding towards the bank.

"What do we know about our subjects?" Greg inquired.

"We talked to some employees who escaped and they identified them as Marshall Jones and Trevor Givens. Both were tellers at the bank until last week, when they were let go under accusations of inappropriate conduct with customers and theft from the bank's vault," Spike spoke.

"Trevor has three kids, and Marshall's wife died last month. The insurance company still hasn't released the money from her life insurance policy, and Trevor Givens was forced to take out a second mortgage," Spike explained.

"So we have two subjects, both are highly emotional, and both are under great personal stress. Spike, does it say why the money hasn't been released yet?" Greg wanted to know.

Spike consulted the screen before shaking his head.

"No. It seems she died of a concussion. Marshall told the police she'd fallen and hit her head around noon. She went to sleep at eight and never woke up."

"Was he charged with anything?" Greg inquired.

Spike once again consulted his laptop before answering.

"Nope."

"Alright, I'm gonna attempt to make communication. Eddie, you got tactical?"

Ed nodded.

"Sam, you're gonna be Sierra One. The restaurant across the street has the best vantage point; go there. Jules, we need you in the truck. Zion you're gonna make entry with me," Ed laid out assignments. Each of the three nodded.

"Yes Sir," Sam and Zion responded in unison.

Ed observed Sam striding away, and noticed he had a bit of a limp. He considered this to be odd, and resolved to ask Zion if she knew anything about it.

Xxxxxx

Marshall Jones paced back and forth restlessly, gun swinging wildly.

The hostages all gazed at him fearfully, some with tear tracks on their pale faces.

"Look, just calm down," he instructed them. "The cops just gotta give us what we want and you'll be free to go."

Trevor stood near the front, foot tapping impatiently on the tiled floor.

Marshall reflected on the events that led him to his current predicament. Before, everything had been great. He'd had a good job, a beautiful wife, a nice home. In short, he'd had it all.

Then Andrea died, and he lost his job not a month later. The insurance company was dragging their feet when paying him the money from Andrea's policy, and he had no clue why. Life had become such a mess, and he was a desperate man.

Trevor had a different reason for doing this, and that was in the form of three squalling brats. Two daughters, named Evelyn and Judith, and a son, named Trevor Jr. They were sweet kids, but Marshall wasn't a huge fan of kids in general.

The room grew silent when the phone rang.

Xxxxx

Sam strode away hurriedly, towards the restaurant that Ed had mentioned. He limped slightly, due to the fact that his leg hurt like a son of a bitch. Secretly, he prayed the call would end quickly.

As silently as possible, which really wasn't all that silent, he jogged up the metal stairs. The thick boots he wore sounded against the metal, audibly announcing his steps to the world.

Using all his upper body strength, Sam pulled himself onto the roof once he reached the top of the stairs. His injured leg screamed at him for putting all his weight on it, but there wasn't another option. Once on the roof, his calf muscle spasmed, sending him tumbling to the ground.

"Shit!" He groaned, before shoving to his feet and jogging to the front of the rooftop, the side that looked into the bank.

"Sam, are you alright?" Ed inquired.

"Yeah, yeah. Just fine," Sam lied.

"Getting into position now," he reported, unpacking the rifle. In very little time, everything was set up. Sam knelt on the ground, and looked into the scope.

Xxxxxx

Zion furrowed her brow. Sam didn't sound alright. Normally he wasn't one to curse so violently, and he'd definitely been limping earlier. She sighed, and hoped he was as alright as he claimed.

Ed was procuring the bank blueprints from the city, leaving her to observe the filthy alley behind the bank. All sorts of trash littered it, everything from torn-up mattresses to outdated newspapers. At one end stood a man with brown hair, smoking a joint. A stiff breeze carried the scent down towards her, and she nearly choked on it.

Ed hustled towards her.

"Copy of the blueprints sent to your PDA," he explained. She nodded, and pulled out the device.

"Okay, there's an underground tunnel that leads us right into the bank. It was built as an alternate fire escape. The opening is right here," Ed pointed out, gesturing to a wide, covered hole in the dirty alley.

"Let's use it then," Zion said.

"Greg's told us to wait a few minutes, while he attempts negotiation," Ed explained.

"Sam, are you in position?" Zion spoke.

"Affirmative," Sam responded detachedly.

His military persona was out in full force, and she could feel herself reacting accordingly. Automatically, her spine straightened, and she linked her fingers behind her back. Her eyes began to roam their surroundings, searching for hostiles and insurgents.

Ed saw this, and wanted to groan. The team had worked so hard to get them to leave those military personas behind, for more than one reason.

One, both were more likely to hide injures, their only focus being on finishing the job successfully; as a consequence, their health suffered.

Second, Zion became hyper-alert, constantly searching for anything perceived as a threat, which made her jumpy.

Third, they both became detached, eyes hardened and faces blank. They wouldn't reveal their feelings, both only saying they were fine, no matter if it was true or not.

So yeah, to see them both slip back into that rigid, overtly-formal, military persona scared him a little bit.

Xxxx

Greg dialed the number of the bank and lifted the phone to his ear.

It rang a few times before someone picked up.

"Hello?" A deep, male voice answered.

"This is Sergeant Gregory Parker from the SRU. Whom am I speaking to?"

The man paused for a moment.

"You can call me Marty," the man responded.

"Alright Marty, well can you tell me how everyone's doing? Is anyone hurt?"

Marty seemed to consider this for a moment, before saying

"Everyone's fine. Can you please just go away?" He pleaded.

"Can't do that Marty. We're just trying to make sure that this gets resolved in a peaceful manner," Greg revealed.

"All we want is our jobs back. We don't wanna hurt anybody. The charges are completely bogus. We never stole, and we never harassed anyone either."

Greg sighed and nodded.

"Alright, we'll work on that but my bosses need a sign of good faith. How bout letting some of those hostages go?" Greg asked.

Marty contemplated this.

"We'll see," he muttered, and the line went dead.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I present….chapter two! Hopefully you enjoy this, and be sure to tell me your thoughts by leaving a review! Thanks for reading!

Also, huge shoutout to my girl Purpwithapen! She's been extremely helpful when giving advice, and banishing discouragement. Go give her story, No Knee'd For Your Concern some love because that was what inspired this. (Credited also: all of missblueeyes63's stories. She specializes in Sam hiding his injuries).

BTW, sorry for the late update. I've been busy babysitting and was just at a huge basketball tourney all weekend, and now am sunburned as a result. So I apologize.

On with the story!

Xxxx

Greg cursed.

"Lost communication," he announced into the comms link.

Xxxxx

Sam shifted his leg a bit, wincing as he did so. The pain hadn't lessened, but rather increased as time passed.

"C'mon and just surrender already. This is bullshit," he mumbled irritably.

Greg heard this and frowned.

"Problem, Constable Braddock?" Greg inquired sharply.

"No Sir," Sam responded coolly.

Xxxx

Zion heard this exchange and frowned. It wasn't like Sam to be so irritable. Holding position as a sniper wasn't a new concept to an experienced gunman such as him.

"Status report Braddock," she ordered.

"Just fine. Holding position on top of Maria's Café. No visual on tar-subjects," he reported in a monotone voice.

Ed listened to the conversation, and the corners of his mouth turned down at Sam's slip of the tongue. It was one he hadn't made in so very long, and Ed tensed at hearing it. Damn their military training, he thought to himself.

Xxxx

Jules arrived on scene then, having had an early morning doctor's appointment. She'd felt bad about leaving them short handed, especially because Wordy had been out with the flu. Hurriedly, she exited the truck and headed for where Sarge stood, ball cap fisted in one hand.

"Hey Sarge," she greeted. "Catch me up?"

He gave her a synopsis of everything that had been going on, ending with a directive to help Spike in the truck.

"Find out about those complaints. Who filed them, how thoroughly they were investigated, the chain of command, everything. Those are the key," he emphasized. She bobbed her head and did as told, darting off towards the truck.

"Heya Spike," she acknowledged him, and sat down in a chair.

"Hello," he responded.

Wasting little time, she began to type on the computer, eyes scanning the screen for pertinent information.

Xxxx

Trevor sat at the loan officer's desk nonchalantly, cigarette dangling out of a corner of his mouth. He slid the egg-shell colored stick out and ashed it carelessly. His unconcerned posture and attitude belied the tense situation.

Marshall, aka Marty, glared at him heatedly.

"I did what you asked, now what?" He questioned, cracking his knuckles.

"Now, call them back, and ask them how far along they are on meeting our demands," Trevor instructed, puffing on the cigarette.

With shaking fingers, Marty dialed the phone number, gaze fixed on the ceiling.

Xxxx

Greg nearly startled with surprise at hearing the phone ring. Years of training allowed him to keep his composure and answer the phone calmly.

"Hey Marty," Greg began.

"H-how far along are you on meeting our demands?" Marty asked, a faint tremor in his voice. Greg frowned; it seemed he'd lost much of his confidence.

"We're investigating the complaints now, though it'll take some time. How we doing on letting those hostages go?" Greg asked.

"No deal."

Greg sighed.

"Alright, well can you tell me why that is?"

An unfamiliar male voice responded.

"Listen pig, you're asking too many questions. Keep on running your mouth, and I'll blow the head off of this pretty young thing right here," distantly, a girl's soft whimper was audible. "So you're gonna get us our jobs back, and then we'll discuss the hostages. Mmkay? Don't call again," he ordered, and the line, once again, went dead.

"Got it," Greg murmured. "How we doing on those complaints Jules?"

Jules shuffled some papers.

"It seems the reports were filed by a Melissa Akins and a Sarah Whitehall, as far as inappropriate conduct goes. Now, the reports were filed about a month ago, within three days of each other. Marshall was named first by Melissa, and Sarah then named Trevor.

This is where it gets fishy. An investigation never happened. Nothing seemed to be moving with their cases, and then suddenly, they were both fired. Only the person, one Drayvon Priest, who's in charge of HR and so has to review and sign off when anyone gets fired, says he never reviewed the case. Someone forged his signature," Jules concluded.

"Alright, let's get copies of those false signatures and have our handwriting experts compare them with everyone who works at the bank. Let's find out who did this," Greg commanded.

"On it," Jules nodded.

Xxxx

Sam laid on the rooftop under the hot sun, sweating like a pig. He held his position though, trained to ignore anything and everything and focus only on the miss- _negotiation_.

Unseen to him, a man crept noiselessly across the rooftop towards where he lay, gun cocked. Sam's senses prickled, and he knew without a doubt that he was no longer alone. He turned his head, and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

Xxxx

Behind the bank, Ed and Zion waited. A tremendous bang sounded in front of the restaurant, and their comms link cut off. Both had begun to move towards the front of the bank, to protect the team and contain the situation, when a man came barreling out the back door.

At the sight of them, he grinned maliciously, and lifted a gun. He pointed it at Zion's head.

"Drop the weapons bitches, or I'll blow her pretty little head off."

Zion glared at him, unafraid.

"Do it," she taunted.

A gunshot echoed through the silent scene.


End file.
